


The Architect

by RiverTam



Series: The Black Fox and the Bloodhound [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Flirting, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Gen, HYDRA Husbands, Military, Recruitment, Time Period: 1990s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 07:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20756876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverTam/pseuds/RiverTam
Summary: Disillusioned by the Silicon Valley and eager to follow in the footsteps of his family's military legacy, Jack attempts to enlist.  He ends up finding a different path entirely after meeting one Brock Rumlow.Set in 1995.Beta read by the awesomePaint_Stained_Heart





	The Architect

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:**  
\- Mention of Don't Ask Don't Tell  
\- Mild homophobic language

** _18 March 1995, San Luis Obispo, California_ **

A well-loved hand towel covered most of the cramped bathroom counter, electric shaver sitting quietly next to a recently-used razor still dripping dry. Several small metal studs and hoops were laid out towards the edge of the towel in a neat row; gold and steel glinted softly under the weak light from above the mirror.

Jack leaned on the counter with his hands on either side of the sink, studying his face in the mirror. Somewhere along the way, the scruffy punk had given way to what he really hoped was something mildly presentable.

He ran his hand over his jaw and neck to make sure he hadn’t missed a spot, then double-checked his piercings as well. Hopefully nothing would close up before he got back.

A tiny bit of goop in his hair kept it from frizzing too badly as he got dressed. Jack held up the black turtleneck shirt Gigi had told him to wear and wrinkled his nose - _ really? _But her advice hadn’t led him wrong yet, so… he swallowed his pride and resigned himself to looking like a computer programmer for a few hours.

Could be worse.

_ Could be raining, _Jack’s younger brother’s voice automatically supplied, and he chuckled despite himself. A small knot of anxiety between his shoulders eased a bit as he slid on his glasses, dropped his keys and wallet into his pockets, and headed for his desk.

It was a good thing he’d set up the folder the night before; in his flurry of nerves and anticipation, forgetting something important was a real possibility. Jack thumbed through the stack of papers inside one last time, then tucked the folder under his arm and headed for the door.

It didn’t take long to find the recruitment fair, especially given that some sort of patriotic dire eagle apparently shat signage all over campus the night before. He snorted as he passed by a sign with the Army seal haphazardly stuck in the grass directly in front of one for the Navy.

The convention hall buzzed with energy as students and uniforms milled about. Banners dripped from every available surface, oozing American Pride into the air. Camouflage stuck out like a sore thumb against the clean lines and utilitarian features of the convention hall.

Jack scanned the hall, looking at each of the tables lined up against the walls, and headed for the first.

“Captain Miller,” Jack greeted the man behind the table after a quick glance at his uniform. He held out his hand for a firm handshake, then looked down at the stacks of paper handouts and pamphlets on the table. “Jack Rollins, pleasure to meet you, sir. My dad served in the 92nd Engineer Battalion in Vietnam. What’s the Army got to offer me?”

Miller crossed his arms and looked Jack up and down. “Depends on your major.”

“Architecture.”

Miller laughed.

“Structural analysis,” Jack told the Navy recruiter.

To the Marines, “Demolitions.”

Master Sergeant Lang just raised an eyebrow and looked Jack in the eye as he handed Jack a piece of paper titled _ Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell _. “Son, I can smell the queer on you a mile away. Do us all a favor and stop trying.”

Jack gritted his teeth, politely thanked Lang for his time, and walked away.

Four tables down, at the last one in the row, an angular-faced, black-haired man pursed his lips around the toothpick he was chewing.

Jack scowled down at the paper in his hands and leaned heavily against the wall near the convention hall door. When he finally finished reading it, he crumpled it into a ball and winged it at the nearest trash can without looking.

The black-haired man’s eyes traced the paper as it flew and neatly hit its mark.

It didn’t take more than a minute for Jack’s neck to start prickling the way it did whenever he was being watched. Jack flicked his eyes up without moving his head, sweeping over the room until he finally locked eyes with someone.

The other man held Jack’s gaze for a few seconds, then jerked his head slightly to beckon Jack over.

With a deep breath, Jack pushed away from the wall and started walking. He scuffed to a stop in front of the black-covered table and frowned down at the emblem.

“Don’t think I’ve seen that one before.”

“We keep a low profile,” the black-haired man answered mildly. 

“‘Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.’ Hell of a mouthful.”

Shrugging, the other man crossed his arms. His plain black t-shirt showed off his biceps in a way that Jack _ really _ didn’t need to be thinking about right then. “Call us SHIELD.”

“Why haven’t I heard of you?”

“Like I said. We keep a low profile.”

Jack glanced at the other man’s shirt - no name or rank. A stick-on nametag had RUMLOW scrawled in blocky, left-slanting letters. He was clean-shaven, with his short black hair gelled up away from his scalp, and his dark eyes pierced through Jack with a laser focus.

“What sort of work do you do?”

Rumlow shrugged again. “All sorts. Depends on what the job calls for. We got agents in jobs ranging from data analysis to black ops.” He tilted his head back and gave Jack a shrewd look. “Couldn’t help but hear Sergeant Dickwad over there. You’re an architect?”

“Yeah, for as much good as that’ll do me in the military.”

“They’re idiots,” Rumlow said flatly. “Five packs of C4, tell me how to take down this building.”

“Those two pillars, that wall’s load-bearing. Take out the wall, then the pillars. Two packs left and the enemy is trapped with minimal casualties.”

Rumlow gave Jack a smug look.

Jack looked down at his feet, then over at Lang. The sergeant was laughing with a guy built like a brick shithouse and shaking his hand. A brief flare of jealousy distracted Jack for half a second before he got it under control and looked back to Rumlow.

“Got a problem with a queer soldier?” Jack challenged with bravado that he hoped didn’t appear as shaky as he felt.

Without skipping a beat, Rumlow growled, “Only if you got a problem with a queer officer.”

Jack stared at him for far longer than was socially appropriate, then looked down at the table. “Where do I sign?”

He wasn’t expecting Rumlow to chuckle as he picked up a business card and offered it to Jack. “Think it over for a day or two, then give me a call.”

Jack took the card and tucked it into his pocket, then shook Rumlow’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” Rumlow shot back with a smirk. “I _ work _ for a living.”

The trip back to his dorm room was a haze of excitement, anticipation, and a touch of anxiety.

In the end, it took him less than twelve hours to call Rumlow. The SHIELD agent picked up immediately, as if he’d been expecting Jack’s call.

_ “Hey, kid. That didn’t take long.” _

Jack swallowed nervously as he pinned the handset between his ear and shoulder. “Yeah, well. I don’t feel like sitting in an office in polyester trousers all day telling Silicon Valley bigwigs why they can’t have their whole building made of glass.”

A low chuckle rumbled through the phone. _“Can you shoot?”_

“Take me to a range and I’ll show you,” Jack replied before he knew what he was saying.

And, somehow, within a few hours after that, he found himself wrapped around a rifle with Rumlow standing to his left looking _ very _ interested in Jack’s target.

“All of you Southern boys have aim that good, or just you?” Rumlow asked during the next ceasefire.

Jack shrugged self-consciously and opened the bolt on his rifle, stood, then stuffed in a chamber flag. “Grew up on a farm. Grandad set me boar hunting soon’s I could hold a rifle.”

Rumlow hummed distractedly as he peered through the spotting scope. “Ever done any martial arts?”

“I, uh… No? Little bit of boxing with my uncles but that’s about it.”

“Hm. Shame.” Standing back up, Rumlow looked up at Jack. “Not a problem, though. Tell you what, let’s get packed up and wash up, then we’ll go sit down somewhere and do a proper interview.”

Jack quickly broke down his rifle and grabbed the case. “Somewhere like…”

Rumlow grinned at him. “You legal yet?”

“Ex_cuse _ me?”

“You, me, quiet bar, good beer, aaaaand I could get fired for that, I am so sorry.”

Jack stared at him for a few seconds before finally laughing despite himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m 22. Beer sounds good.”

Burying his face in his hands for a moment, Rumlow sighed. “Please don’t tell my boss about that.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“...Jack Rollins, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”


End file.
